MiddleEarth And How I Saved It
by Hel-Lokisdotter
Summary: My name is Siltasuvi Araeina Smith, and I am the one fated to save Middle-Earth. No, really. Why are you looking so disbelieving? ON INDEFINITE HIATUS
1. Suvi and George

**Disclaimer: **It should be pretty obvious that Lord of the Rings isn't mine. I'm only responsible for mangling storyline, characters, and backstory for my own twisted amusement.

**A/N: **I blame l-ishida-dark. Entirely. She's the one who brought up the subject of the magical belly-button piercing. She's also responsible for the ending of this chapter. XD  
PROTIP, u gaiz! When you've got exams in two days time, the ABSOLUTE BEST THING YOU CAN DO is start off a new fic. For best results, make it a complete piss-take with no merit whatsoever besides personal lols, then post it on an archive infamous for the tempestuousness of its authors.  
Rest assured that any comments, positive or negative, which take this seriously in any way at all should at least provide me with much-needed amusement.  
Enjoy!

**Chapter One**

A single tear, crystalline and glistening, slid down my cheek. My eyes were dark with sadness. No, literally. I know it seems odd, but my eyes change colour when I feel strong emotion. Today, as I choked back sobs at the side of the freshly-turned earth, they were black, as black as my long, poker-straight hair was blonde. Well, blacker than that, because my hair is actually pink and purple as well as blonde. Cool, huh?

But I digress.

A single tear, crystalline and glistening, slid down my cheek, as I was saying before I so rudely interrupted myself. Pain clutched at my very soul, my blonde-and-pink-and-purple hair shrouding my heart-shaped face as I knelt there, head in hands.

My mother… my father… if only they were there with me now. Looking up, I imagined I saw them there; Daddy was holding Mom's hand, one hand on her shoulder as though to comfort her. They looked at each other, expressions unreadable, but I read love there – love for each other, but mostly love for me.

I could almost hear their voices…

No, wait. I _could_ hear their voices.

"Siltasuvi Araeina Raven Tri'shah Iuhlmati Ellenor Isabella…" Mom said carefully.

"…Geliarae Arwen Sarabelle Kitsune Hmrevenueandcustoms," I added helpfully.

"Siltasuvi Araeina Raven Tri'shah Iuhlmati Ellenor Isabella Geliarae Arwen Sarabelle Kitsune Hmrevenueandcustoms Smith, why are you crying over a flower?"

"Yeah," Daddy agreed, monosyllabically. "I think we can replant it."

"You don't understand!" I cried at them, leaping to my feet. "George was my best friend! You can't just replace him like that!" How could they be so cruel? So callous? So utterly, splendiferously, terribly, awfully _horrid_? Several single crystalline tears streaming down my alabaster-pale cheeks, I turned and fled back towards the shack they called a house – how could anybody expect a growing girl like me to live in a place with only three wings and two hundred rooms? – my frail shoulders racked with sobs.

Running upstairs, I shoved the maid, butler, and PA out of the way and threw myself down on the tiny four-poster bed with hand-embroidered Venetian silk pillows, racked by heartfelt sobs. George was gone. Gone forever. My only real friend. And Mom and Daddy didn't even understand my agony! They never did. They just couldn't comprehend my sensitive soul, the depths of my deep heart in all its deepness. Daddy wouldn't even buy me another pony!

They kept me a virtual slave here. I had to wash up twice a month, and I was always dragged out of bed at crack of noon, each morning, to trudge all the way to the Ferrari. I tried to call social services down on them, but they just laughed in my face. Nobody cared. Nobody understood. I was all alone in a cold, cruel world.

School was the worst. My teachers never stopped hounding me about petty things like grades, concentration, and showing up for lessons. Every boy in the school threw themselves at me, but none of them saw me as more than a pair of G-cup breasts and a pretty face. The girls all said I was a total bitch, even though I never did anything wrong. Everyone hated me because I was so popular, and I never really had friends at all.

Until George. George was my friend. My best friend. My only friend.

And now he was dead!

Sniffling, I wiped a single crystalline tear away from the corner of my eyes, which were fading back to a pale, mourning silver-grey, like a rainy sky without the rain or the sky, and sat up on my bed, looking around my 'room'. I had seen more luxurious cupboards. It was only ten metres square, and what had given them the idea to paint it pink? Everyone knew that I wanted it to be black, and had done for whole days! The velvet drapes would have looked more in place in a museum, and the only furniture was hideously uncomfortable and made of cold iron. Well, the lampshade was, anyway.

I didn't belong here. I couldn't! Everyone here hated me. George was dead. My parents were callous, boorish types, with no interest at all in deep culture, like MCR, Hawthorne Hotel, and Marilyn Manson. They listened to strange music, shallow and uninteresting. I mean, somebody whose idea of a good title is 'Beethoven's Ninth' is clearly an imbecile as well as an egotist.

And my parents were boring. We had nothing in common, except for a 97.3% perfect facial match and a genetic surceptibility to contracting syphilis from drinking out of toilets. But Mom and Daddy were too cowardly to do something like that.

Pulling up my black, lacy top, which clung to my slim figure perfectly, accentuating my mild curves, and was emblazoned with the Hot Topic logo in hot pink, I peered down at the only clue I had to my real past, my real parents, before my mind was implanted with these false memories. I had had the belly-button piercing for as long as I could remember. It had a gem in it which was the exact blue of my eyes in 10:35:21:9001 happiness/love/sadness/rage mode, held perfectly in the slim silver setting. A tiny flaw in the crystal depths made it seem to shine with a mysterious inner light, just like my eyes in 13:66:6:1 mode.

Where did it come from, I wondered.

Where did _I_ come from?

Who, after all, was I?

Who was the 'me' that was thinking?

What was the meaning of life?

Why couldn't I afford that shiny diamond-studded skull Damien Hurst was hawking? It would really suit my room once I managed to sneak in twenty or so cans of black paint and a few miles of black lace.

"I wish I was somewhere else! I want to go somewhere where I belong!" I cried, a single crystalline tear running down my cheek _again_. Single crystalline tears are a _bitch_, believe you me.

In a sudden storm of glitter, a strange figure appeared. He had light brown hair and blue-grey eyes, and when he spoke, it was with an English accent – South Shields, to be precise. He was dressed in a pink leotard and tutu, and he carried a glittery wand with a star on the end.

"And so you shall!" he told me, tapping me over the head with his wand.

"Who are you?" I asked, amazed, but before he could reply, I was sucked into a swirl of sparkling, shining strangeness. Rainbows rolled round me, quite quickly, and purple points of light plummeted past me. Overhead, other odd occurrences occurred.

At last, after an amazing alliterative age, I landed with a thud.

I looked around, unable to believe my eyes. Overhead, birds were singing. The trees bowed in a light wind. A few feet away, a neon sign flashed pink and green, surrounded by bright lights; writ upon it in great, towering letters were the words WELCOME TO MIDDLE-EARTH!

What had happened?

Where was I?

Where had that anachronistic and frankly tacky neon sign come from?


	2. Legolas is very confused

**A/N: **I had to write _something_, or I was going to go insane. So what better than a new chapter of the fail!fic?

Enjoy! Concrit! Smirk knowingly in all the right places!

**Chapter Two**

"Where did that anachronistic and frankly tacky neon sign come from?" Aragorn asked, scratching his head.

I shrugged, my lustrous golden hair falling over my pointed ears and cascading down my shoulders.

"What I want to know," I answered, frowning, "is why I keep getting this strange urge to introduce myself as Orlando."

One of the hobbits whispered something to Gimli, who snorted. I stopped to glare back at them. Accursed… small people!

"Peace, Legolas," Boromir said with a smirk, raising his hand. "Strange thoughts enter the minds of men in such places as these. I am for Aragorn here. Your name is immaterial, compared to the sudden appearance of this anachronism."

"What's an anachronism?" Sam asked with a frown.

"A great force sent to trouble our unhappy world, I fear," Aragorn said gravely, resting one hand on the post of the flashing sign. "Often have I travelled in the Wilds, and never have I seen such a thing."

"We draw now close to the Golden Wood," Gimli commented, looking up at the sign. "Sorcery lies within this forest."

"Why does it say 'Welcome to Middle-Earth!', though?" the Ringbearer asked, fidgeting slightly. "Haven't we been in Middle-Earth since the day we were born?"

I raised a finger to my lips, and stepped, cat-quiet, towards the prone figure underneath the sign. Unslinging my bow from my back, I squatted down next to the dark shape coiled in the long grass, and poked it gingerly.

It didn't move.

I poked it again, harder.

It still didn't move.

"It's… a girl?" Frodo murmured, drawing closer. Well, you have to let hobbits state the obvious sometimes. Otherwise, they might implode.

I poked it – her? – again, brow creasing into a frown of pure curiosity. Never, in all my years, had I seen something like this.

At that moment, she woke up. There was approximately a heartbeat between her waking and the instant when she latched herself onto my shirt, multicoloured hair flying, colour-changing eyes locked on mine, and be-lipsticked mouth moving so fast it was almost a blur.

"Omi_gosh_ where am I and who are you I was just in my room and then there was this fairy only he wasn't a fairy he was a comedian in a tutu and then he hit me with his wand but before that George died and my name's Siltasuvi Araeina Raven Tri'shah Iuhlmati Ellenor Isabella Geliarae Arwen Sarabelle Kitsune Hmrevenueandcustoms Smith but you can call me Suvi and I'm not called Smith that's just my family's name they're not my real family and I know because I have this magic belly-button piercing and it's just the colour of toilet cleaner or my eyes and I wanted to get away but then the fairy came and hit me with his wand like I said and there were lots of letters all the same-y and then I landed here and I was tired so I went to sleep but omigosh this isn't my room and then you came along and…"

I blinked, my eyes sliding sideways to Aragorn, who shrugged almost imperceptibly.

She was still talking. "…and I like real music like MCR and Hawthorne Heights but my parents only like crappy oldies stuff like this guy Schubert I mean what's Schubert supposed to be that's not a name it sounds like a branch of a cobbler's but I don't buy my shoes at cobblers I buy them online because you can get such cool stuff online like these jeans aren't they awesome but then sometimes you meet weird stalkers online and they're nasty but they won't come after me because I know tai kwon do and Daddy taught me how to fence and I'm the best pupil in my whole class at Games actually I'm the best pupil in my whole class at _everything_ but…"

I cast a desperate look back at the rest of the Company, and mouthed _Help me_. But they were too busy trying not to laugh. _Shadows and darkness take you and rot you!_ I thought to myself, but kept my mouth closed.

"…and then he said omigod you did not and she said omigosh I totally did but then they saw me watching and they just sort of backed away because no-one likes me and no-one trusts me because I'm too popular and too pretty and they think I'm dumb but I'm totally not I like Lord of the Rings and all that fantasy stuff and I can do advanced calculus in my head but I don't want to and anyway my parents just totally don't care about me so I don't even think they'll notice I'm gone so it doesn't matter well it does matter because I don't want to leave home right now I haven't finished my vigil for George but the fairy didn't even listen to my wish properly and he should be fired because I don't know where this is and I don't like it this floor's even harder than my shag pile carpet back home and I don't like it and by the way, what's your name?"

It took me a moment to realise that she'd stopped talking, then Sam coughed discreetly and I jumped.

"Excuse me?"

She stamped her foot, pouting.

"I _said_, what's your name!"

"Orla… I mean Legolas! Legolas is my name!"

Silence, blessed silence, fell. Then she squealed.

It started off low, low enough to vibrate uncomfortably in my ears, then rose. Several bats fell out of a tree, and a stray squirrel was blown almost away by the blast.

"OMIGODit'syouit'syouit'sreallyYOOOOU!" she squeaked, hopping up and down like a mad thing and fanning herself crazily with both open hands. Then, taking me quite by surprise, she lunged at me, grabbed me around the neck, and knocked me onto the ground in what felt like a wrestler's embrace. "_LEGGIE-POOOOO_! Ohmi_god_ you're so _fit_ just like I thought you would be and I always imagined you'd have that sexy sexy voice and you're so _cuuute_ I've read like a million fanfics about you and I love you I love you I love you!"

I could only look mutely, imploringly, at the rest of the Fellowship, who gave me identically blank looks.

"What…" I managed, prising her off me – her chest was large, to say the least, and I feared I was in danger of suffocating – and taking several hurried steps back. My hand went to the knife at my belt. "What's a fanfic?"


	3. Suvi's Tears

**A/N: **I just wrote nothing but death, doom, and destruction for three pages on Word. You know what that means… It's time for a parody break! Only a short one, but we must always remember the Creed of the Sue: quantity, not quality. ^^

Chapter 3

Leggie-poo was balled up in the shade of the trees, rocking to and fro manically. Well, _I_ don't know why! All I did was tell him what a lemon was, and what slash meant! God, some people, right? Can't take their medicine.

But I could let him off, because oh my God, he was _hot_! HOT! _HOT!___And did I mention _**HOTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!**_?

…He was very, very hot. I'm drooling just thinking about how hot he was.

You'd think so too. That he was hot, I mean.

He looked just like he did in the films! Only without any of the features he had in the films.

Well… he had blonde hair and pointy ears. Does that count?

Shut up, it counts.

I didn't fancy him at all, though. I mean, sure, he was hot. And sure, he was everything I had dreamed of. And sure, he was charming, clever, and brave. But he hadn't been listening to my explanation of how I got here at _all_! Selfish bastard. I mean, he could have the common courtesy not to ignore somebody who was…

"…you been here?"

"Pardon?" I asked icily. Stupid Aragorn had been blathering on while I was trying to have some alone time. I mean, the _nerve_ of some people!

"I said, how long have you been here?" He sounded a little irritable. Well, you've got no right to get on your high horse, I thought angrily. You're the one who interrupted my hair-braiding time. Don't blame _me_ if I don't give 101% of my attention to whatever it is you're yapping on about.

I didn't say any of this, of course. I'm far too polite. Instead, I just shrugged expressively, and went back to braiding my hair.

"What does she say, Aragorn?" A small, curly-haired hobbit with blondish hair – I guessed Sam – appeared from behind the arrogant bastard of a Ranger.

OMIGOD! _Kawaiiiiiiiiii_!

"Sam!" I shouted, and abandoned my hair for the moment in order to leap up, perfectly white teeth flashing in a grin, and throw my arms around him. He was so _small_! And so _cuuuuute_! I ruffled his hair, then chucked him under the chin. "Who's my little snookums, den? Who's my little snookie-wookie?"

"That would be the Ringbearer," Boromir informed me. For some reason, his voice was muffled, as though he were trying not to laugh.

"Wasn't the Ring a bit of a clue?" I swear I heard Gimli mutter.

No! I took a step back, looking the hobbit up and down (but mostly down, haha!). This couldn't be Frodo Baggins! His hair wasn't dark enough! And he looked _nothing_ like Elijah Wood!

He was still adorable, though! Small people are like that. Except Gimli, admittedly, who stank to high heaven. Actually, now I come to think of it, they all did. Hadn't these people ever heard of deodorant? Or daily bathing, for that matter?

"And I'm fifty years old!" he protested, as I bent down to ruffle his hair again. "Stop _doing_ that!"

"Go right on," another hobbit – I wasn't even going to _try _to guess which - told me from the other side of the clearing, with a smile that looked almost mischievous crossing his face.

"Yes," yet _another_ hobbit agreed, with a definite smirk, "go right ahead."

"Merry! Pippin!" Frodo ducked away, almost as though he didn't _like _me hugging him. But I knew better. He was just being silly. I bent down and hugged him again, lifting him right off the ground.

"Who's my diddums? Who's a _good_ hobbit?"

I knew he'd said he was, like, three times my age (even though he totally doesn't look it and I think he was lying) but it just felt _right_!

***

About twenty minutes later, after I'd been forcibly pulled off Frodo – and let me just take a minute to say _what the fuck, Aragorn_? Just because he's gone blue doesn't mean I should stop sharing the love – and he had joined Leggie-poo in sitting and rocking (I swear to God, these Middle-Earth people have _very fragile_ mental health), the adrenaline wore off, and I realised how bad things were.

I was on another world.

I had no way of getting home.

Legolas didn't look like Orlando Bloom at all!

Single crystalline tears flooded down my face like a particularly heavy monsoon in the Amazon. Burying my pale, perfectly made-up face in my hands, I wept bitterly – just as well I was wearing waterproof mascara. Nobody offered me a tissue.

Well, isn't that just bloody typical? I bet it's because I'm a girl. They think I should have my _own_ tissues. Well, that or they don't own tissues, but I mean, really, how likely is _that_?

"Pull yourself together," Aragorn was telling Leggie-poo, in Elvish. Well, it was either that or "Take me now, beneath the light of Elendil, you gorgeous Elven stud." The sendaway Elvish course I did was a bit fuzzy on fine detail like that.

"Master Frodo?" The fourth of the hobbits was crouching next to the Ringbearer, looking concerned. Frodo himself was now patting his face and muttering some kind of nonsense about his cheeks being pinched into oblivion.

What got _me_ was that they were all clustering around the feeble-minded members of the Fellowship who just couldn't take a little love – I personally think that Frodo must have had a neglectful childhood – and nobody had so much as offered me a tissue. I was weeping beautifully right in the centre of the clearing, single crystalline tears clattering around me like ball-bearings, and nobody even cared. It was just like at home!

Here's the thing, though: all the people they were comforting were _male_ in nature. Coincidence? I think _not_.

God, the blatant misogyny in this place makes me sick. It's as bad as that time the people in that barbers' refused to let me in because it was a "men's hairdressers"! Bloody cheek! They might as well have called it a "whites-only hairdressers"! It's the same sort of discrimination, that's what people just don't seem to _get_.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes. Weeping my heart out in the centre of the clearing.

Merry (I think; god, they all look the same to me) picked up one of my single crystalline tears on his fingertip, examining it thoughtfully. "What's this?" he asked. "Some sort of tiny diamond?"

Sweet, Merryorpippin. Sweet, but totally _stupid_. You can't call me unobservant for making a perfectly understandable faux pas in the hobbit-identification business, then not tell the difference between a diamond and a single crystalline tear. All hobbits look the same, but any idiot knows that a single crystalline tear can be told apart from a diamond by the simple procedure of adding it to a titration of sulphuric acid and sodium hydroxide. It's not _my_ fault if you didn't bring the appropriate materials with you.

"It's probably a bit of glass," Pippinormerry told him.

"Well, there's an awful lot of glass in her eye, then," Merryorpippin retorted.

Unable to take any more, I stopped the flow of single crystalline tears and glared at them. "It's not a bit of glass _or_ diamond!" I shouted, quite reasonably, given the circumstances. "It's a single crystalline tear! Don't you know _anything_!"

The hobbits looked as though they would have replied, but some elvish bastard picked that moment to distract them by sticking arrows inches away from their faces. I mean, sure, it's partly their fault for having such lousy attention spans, but come _on_! What do elves have against me explaining things properly? First Leggie-poo, now _this_. I mean, what's a girl to do?

A smug-looking face appeared between the branches; from the pointy ears and the fact that he talked Elvish to start with, I managed to divine that he was, in fact…

You won't believe this…

An elf!

And he didn't half look pleased with himself. Then he said what might just be the most sexist thing I've ever heard.

"The girl cries so piercingly, we could have shot you through ten layers of sound-muffling insulation," he said smoothly, and took a step towards us. It was, I think, around that point that his feet caught on the single crystalline tears scattered an inch thick all around me, and he skidded gracefully to a stop against a tree. Headfirst.

Well, it serves him right. Stupid Haldir couldn't even say his line properly.


End file.
